This suburban street of development homes looks ordinary to the passer-by. But take the Tedescos at number twelve. Their daughter was the teller in cahoots with her friend who robbed her bank—split it fifty–fifty. When asked why a nice girl from the suburbs would do such a thing she shrugged. But if she’d heard of Willie Sutton, she’d have said, “That’s where the money is.” There’s that hotshot down at twenty, who thinks he’s a Soros but still lives on our street with the rest of the bourgeoisie. This wizard of wall street, with his frameless

glasses and black BMW

is the one among us with the most toys. Or, what about the kid from number five who killed a girl who crawled from her window to meet him at midnight? He’s serving life. Then, there’s Margaret M. who wears dark glasses as if she is blind or cool. See her at midnight, sprinting in her nightie, doing laps around the block,

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